An Afternoon Incognito
by Alexa Johnson
Summary: Aragorn, unsatisfied with the slow progression towards friendship with his Steward, has an idea to help move it along. Primarily humor, with a basically angst free Faramir. Written for lindahoyland.


**Author's Notes: **This was written for lindahoyland in a response to a drabble meme I hosted over at my livejournal. Clearly, however, this is not a drabble—my Muse apparently isn't too fond of the whole 'brevity is the soul of wit' saying! –grins-

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**An Afternoon Incognito**

_By Alexa Johnson_

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Aragorn had known that there was going to be more to being king than simply putting on a crown, but the constant formality was starting to get to him.

Sometimes it even took him a moment or two to realize that he was being spoken to when he was addressed as 'My Liege.'

He wondered briefly how the Council would react if he showed up one day dressed in his Ranger garb, hair unruly, and dirty from head to foot, and he had to smother a laugh.

They probably wouldn't even recognize him as the King.

As ludicrous as the image was, the idea of shedding his Kingly raiment and returning to his old life—if only for half a day—was tempting.

Complete adjustment to this life would come in time—he supposed it would not be entirely professional if he requested to be called Strider—but he had been expecting to have been at least on a private first name basis with his Steward by now.

Faramir was diligent and had a sharp mind, and Aragorn valued his advice above anyone's. He wished the man weren't so cautious around him though, but knowing that Denethor had been his father made it easy to see why Faramir acted the way he did.

His behavior even frustrated Aragorn occasionally, and it was about time they had a talk about that.

A thought took shape in his head and grew, and his mouth quirked in a smile.

He was going to indulge, just this once, but he would not be doing so alone.

What, after all, would be the fun in that?

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Faramir looked at the dangerously high stack of paperwork on his desk and put his face in his hands with a groan.

No wonder his father had usually been in ill humor.

Sighing, he had just reached for the first page of the pile when someone knocked on his door. Of all the times to be disturbed…

He could not quite keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Come in!"

The door opened, and Faramir blanched slightly when the King's head appeared. Faramir hoped he had not detected his irritation, and, standing, said, "My Liege…"

But the King, now standing in front of his desk, waved his hand dismissively and said, "No, no, sit down, please."

Frowning, Faramir sat.

He never knew quite how to act around the man. He respected and admired him, and while he performed his duties to the best of his ability, he still felt as though Aragorn wanted something more from him. What this something was though, he was not entirely sure.

Aragorn eyed The Pile almost warily. "Is now a bad time?"

For anyone else it would have been, but this was the King. Faramir shook his head. "No, Sire. Is there something that you need?"

"What I need," Aragorn began, thoughtfully, and then he paused before continuing, "no—what I would like is for you to be less formal in private."

Faramir blinked. "Sire?"

"That is exactly what I mean!" Aragorn cried, and Faramir, not really sure he did understand exactly what the man meant, thought it best at this moment just to keep his mouth closed, feeling only slightly uncomfortable. "Can you not just call me by my first name? I could not have asked for a better Steward, but I had hoped to have your friendship as well."

Faramir's first thought was to protest, but then he really thought about what the King—about what Aragorn was saying.

Steward was not necessarily the same as friend--they got along well, but he was nowhere near as close with the man as, say, Legolas and Gimli.

Is that what Aragorn had been wanting all this time?

Faramir offered him a small, tentative smile. "I had not realized—you are often with Legolas and Gimli. I have not wanted to intrude…"

"You would not have been," Aragorn said firmly. "You would have been welcomed warmly."

"Thank you, my—" Faramir broke off with a wince. This was going to be a difficult habit to break. "Aragorn."

Giving him a pleased smile, Aragorn glanced once more at the threatening stack of papers on the edge of his desk. "Is that work pressing?"

Faramir considered this. It had to get done eventually, but it was still rather early in the afternoon, and he had no other engagements for the day that he knew of… "Not really, no."

Aragorn's smile broadened. "Well then, Faramir, in an effort to improve upon our friendship, I propose that we spend the afternoon incognito. What say you?"

Faramir stared for a moment before letting out a rather huge guffaw. "You mean play Rangers in Minas Tirith?"

Aragorn's eyes gleamed. "You know Elves—Legolas despises dirt. And Gimli is, well, rather hard to disguise. But you and I—we could look like the two filthiest troublemakers imaginable, and I bet that no one would be the wiser."

Earlier nervousness for the moment forgotten, Faramir's grin was now as big as Aragorn's. "I like the way your mind works. We probably should refrain from causing too much trouble though—it would most likely not be very proper for the City's King and its Steward to wind up in our own prison."

Aragorn snickered. "That would be a fun story to tell. I am sure our betrotheds would not approve."

Faramir stood, stretching, eyes warm as he thought of Éowyn. "Well, ignorance is bliss, is it not? Shall we go get dressed? This dusty office can wait a few hours."

Clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder, Aragorn said, "I am glad, truly. I would very much like to get to know you, Faramir, as more than just a Steward."

The old shyness suddenly returning, Faramir managed a small smile. "I would like that, very much."

This would take some getting used to, but Faramir found that he did truly want to befriend this man.

At least, now, they were finally headed in the right direction.

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**FIN**

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_Please review? –hopeful eyes-_


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